all my friends are dead
by phobo
Summary: A zombie outbreak hits South Park. Craig and Wendy are the only known survivors. - FIRST 7 CHAPTERS COMPLETELY REVISED (WILL BE REVISING THE REST ASAP)
1. battle scars

His eyes shot open as he lurched off the hard bunker floor. Cold sweat coated his back, soaking into his filthy t-shirt. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it throughout his entire body, unable to differentiate his heartbeat and his violent shaking. He hiccuped between uneven breaths, as if he was just learning how to breathe.

There was a sound, that voice. It called his name with enough desperation to drive any man to the brink of sanity. It saturated his brain and made him forget who he was.

"Craig…"

His heart slowed at the sound of the muffled voice, pulling him back into reality. The oil lamp was dim, but he could barely make out the features of the girl laying next to him, whose night-black hair pooled around her like a long, dark safety net. Her tired eyes were gray and vacant, and there was dirt in the creases on her forehead. She held a large gun to her chest as if she was cradling a child.

"Wendy," he whispered questioningly, ignoring the trembling in his voice.

It was still hard to see her like this, so vulnerable. He'd much prefer her to yell at him, or throw shit around, or tell him how stupid he's being. At the very least, it would give him some consistency.

But he knew it was a facade, something that couldn't be kept up forever. This was made most apparent at night, when she'd removed her shoulder pads and bossy attitude and all that was left was a sad, tired girl.

She bit her lip as she looked him up and down. He wasn't sure what he saw in those eyes of hers but it made him want to hide.

She reached out to touch him but he shrunk away from her before she could even get close. She should have known better than anyone that he had the emotional temperament of an abused dog, which is why he didn't feel bad about that sad look she was giving him.

A sigh escaped her chapped lips before pursing them together, as if she was trying to solve some sort of equation. As if the answer wasn't already blatantly obvious.

"You said it again," she muttered.

Her words caused heat to rise up in his chest, making it harder to breathe. She needed to stop talking. He didn't want to talk. He just wanted to forget.

"Said what?"

"His name. You said it again."

He gulped down the urge to repeat that name like a mantra. It was no surprise he was saying it in his sleep.

"Oh… I don't remember."

There were tears in her eyes but she smiled anyway. Pity, that was it. That was the thing that made him want to hide.

"I know."


	2. ocean eyes

"Hi there! You must be Craig Tucker?"

She looked down at the little boy with as big a smile as she could muster. It was her duty to make sure new students felt safe and welcomed at South Park Elementary. It wasn't uncommon for new kids to be by themselves during recess, so she wasn't surprised to see the boy sitting against the brick wall facing the playground.

He glanced up at her, but she didn't feel particularly acknowledged. It felt more like she was a screeching hyena and he was simply trying to figure out what that annoying noise was.

His eyes were a brighter blue than she'd ever seen. His hat looked warm, and it made her jealous as she stood against the wind with a purple beret that barely covered her ears. She made a mental note to ask him what kind of hat it was later.

Instead of greeting her in a manner anyone would consider normal, he lifted a middle finger and spat, "Who's asking?"

This caught her off guard, but it didn't break her stride. She settled down beside him and spoke cheerfully, "I'm Wendy Testaburger, president of the third grade class!"

His face screwed up into something uncomfortable before scooching away. The pleasant smell of peanut butter filled the space between them.

"I just wanted to see how you're adjusting. I know it can be intimidating, not knowing where you fit in yet." Her voice softened along with her smile. He seemed pretty tense, but she figured it was just another symptom of new school syndrome.

"You're worse than the fucking teachers, you know that?" He sounded disgusted, as if using his vocal cords for something so trifling was a waste of his time.

Craig Tucker wasn't your average new kid, and it took him a mere two seconds to make this apparent. Normally, Wendy was fully equipped to deal with the clever quips and jabs her classmates were constantly throwing at her, but this time she was stumped. The smile fell from her face and she struggled to find the words. _Any_ words.

He put his hands behind his head and sighed, focusing his attention somewhere beyond the playground. "Yeah, being the new kid sucks. But am I intimidated? Fuck no."

The weight of his words and that nasally drawl hit her like a semi. He turned back to her with eyes full of acknowledgment, speaking to her without words. The feeling it filled her with was one she couldn't rationalize and it was terrifying.

In that moment, space and time were no longer real. Breathing was no longer a viable means of survival. Bile bubbled in the back of her throat and she fought back the urge to vomit.

She could run. Just make up an excuse and end the conversation before she made a complete idiot of herself. It's not like he wanted to talk to her anyway, so there would be no harm done.

But as she reminded herself that he was _just_ a boy, a new student, a potential friend—miraculously, she spoke.

"Why are you sitting here all alone then?" Her voice was distant and robotic, as if she was trying to set some sort of imaginary boundary he wouldn't even bother crossing. She opted to stare at the space between his eyes, since just the _thought _of more eye contact had her seeing stars. She didn't understand why she couldn't just knock it off and talk to this boy—she wanted to _so_ badly.

Her heart dropped into her stomach at the realization that she's never wanted anything more.

"I prefer to be alone. Always have."

He flooded her brain like an auditory hallucination. His scent carried through her and around her and she was no longer cold.

"You don't get lonely?"

"Never."

_Craig Tucker._ The boy who lived in absolutes. The boy who had everything figured out, and cared about nothing at all.

And then there was Wendy. The headstrong, devoted, intelligent girl whose understanding of the world had been obliterated by one simple conversation. She knew now that she knew nothing, and she was filled with so many questions. Why was her chest so tight? Why were her palms so clammy? Why was her stomach so, so sick?

Before Craig Tucker, Wendy Testaburger liked to think she lived in absolutes.

Now, the voice in her head was screaming _maybe_. And suddenly, she cared so much.

She blinked and he was gone. It was quite possible that he was never even there to begin with. But whether the conversation was real or simply a figment of her imagination, she knew that nothing would be the same again.


	3. brown sugar

The wood stove in the bunker was a pile of scraps at best, but they made do. It was comforting when the nights were cold and they needed a warm meal.

The smell of baked beans was starting to repulse him. He knew he could provide them with so much more if she'd just stop running her mouth and listen for once.

He gave her a sidelong glance from where he sat at the table. She stood at the stove, stirring the beans so they wouldn't stick to the pot. Her knuckles were wrapped up and bleeding through the bandages, bandages he'd changed four times since yesterday evening.

She went out on another one of her little excursions yesterday, much to his dismay. He told her she was being ridiculous, risking her life for very little gain. She was dainty and could only carry so much back with her, forcing her to go back out almost every other day.

Like a broken record, he insisted on making the trip instead. And like the stubborn woman she was, she told him she didn't need a man to do the dirty work for her.

Tonight was no different. The bags under her eyes were just a shade darker, and the tiniest shift in her shoulder blades made her wince. She was running on empty, he could tell. But getting through to her was close to impossible.

She hummed a happy tune as she cooked, some pop song that used to play on the radio. He'd never paid the song any mind, but decided Wendy's rendition was pleasant enough. He lowered his chin into his arms and shut his eyes to hear it better.

It was peaceful for a few minutes. That was something rare with Wendy, something he was grateful for whenever the moment arose. He fell into a meditative state, entranced by the melody when Wendy cleared her throat.

"You uh, remember when you first came to South Park?" Her volume was that of a normal person, but for her, it was quite soft.

He squinted at her, partly irritated by her lame attempt at small talk.

"Not really."

There was a long silence after that, except this time it wasn't very comfortable. It made him wonder if she was really just trying to make idle chitchat, or if there was something else on her mind.

Not that he'd say that, of course.

She sighed thoughtfully as she sprinkled a few hard clumps of brown sugar into the mixture.

"You were a popular guy. Basically everyone wanted to be your friend." A small smile ghosted across her lips.

"Yeah, that was gay."

Her hair fell to the side, obscuring her face.

"I couldn't begin to name all the girls who had a crush on you, even in high school."

She still refused to look at him as she stirred the beans in a mindless fashion. The hot steam swirling in her face was starting to turn her cheeks red.

"_Really_." His voice was dripping with sarcasm, the only real emotion he could convey through his words. This wasn't news, he knew this. What was the point of raking up the past?

"Are you trying to tell me something, Testaburger?"

"It's the apocalypse, Tucker. Can't a girl indulge in some small talk?"


	4. stormy skies

She flung the steel door open and marched down the steps towards the back of the school. The smell of burning tobacco was so strong that it wrapped around the entire building. Usually, she'd take every opportunity to gloat about being right, but the fact that she'd memorized his morning routine was something she'd rather take to the grave.

She grumbled angrily as she trudged through the heavy snow, following the scent like a bloodhound. As she turned the corner, she was met with the object of her annoyance. He was settled against the wall with a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth, puffing away like he hadn't just been caught red-handed. He didn't even bother to acknowledge her presence, which only added fuel to the fire.

She made a big show of huffing and crossing her arms in disapproval.

"What do you think you're doing out here?" Her tone was biting and the words came out a little louder than she'd intended. She narrowed her eyes at the cigarette, tapping her foot as if she was expecting him to put it out.

He turned in the direction of her voice but not towards her specifically, still as loose and apathetic as he ever was.

"Hey Miss President, want a drag?" He took two steps in her direction, offering the cigarette between his fingers.

She almost squealed, startled by the proposition. "Are you dense? It's the middle of the school day and you're out here getting your fix!" Her arms fell, fists clenched at her sides.

"Well, what's your excuse then? Kids only ever come back here to smoke."

She took a step forward and waggled her finger at him menacingly. "_You_ never showed up to Algebra. Mr. Garrison asked me to go look for you. You're lucky I'm three lessons ahead, so it wasn't _that_ much trouble." She flipped her hair back dramatically.

He snorted but he wasn't smiling. They were close enough so that he was forced to look down at her. "Wow, you're just perfect, aren't you?"

Her face was heating up, a feeling she simply attributed to her anger. She looked down at her rubbery black boots and relaxed her shoulders, forcing herself to exhale the negative energy.

"…I should report you for this, you know that?" It was almost like she was pleading with him to stomp it out.

"Go for it. I guess it's too bad, though…" He took a drag before continuing, and she could smell it on his breath as he spoke. "I thought you were cool."

Her heart thumped loudly in her chest, as if she'd just remembered who she was talking to. She craned her neck to look at him and it took her breath away. So many thoughts ran through her mind but not a single one was coherent. They were just random words and feelings mashed together in a symphony that she'd never rehearsed.

His eyes were so bright and beautiful, she saw her soul reflected in them. She only wished she didn't feel so ashamed of what she was seeing.

Suddenly, she was too close. She could barely control herself as she ducked her head down and took a skittish step back.

Biting her lip, she muttered, "I better not catch you again, Craig Tucker," as she sprinted around the corner and back into the school.

The calm ocean tide was never meant to exist beneath the wrath of the dark, stormy sky. They were equal in beauty and grandeur, but by nature were obligated to remain divided for all of eternity.

Wendy knew this to be true. She'd known it all her life. And yet, the words that echoed through the thunder and rain persisted, no matter how much she'd wish them away.

_I thought you were cool._


	5. shelter

Craig wasn't much for girls, but he thought Wendy looked better with carbon black paint under her eyes. It was functional, but it also made her look powerful, intimidating—not that she needed any help with that.

Out of all the gadgets they had in the bunker, a mirror was not one of them, so he applied it for her. The lamp had been out of oil since last night, so he had to make do with the light of a single candle propped up between them.

To put it mildly, he was struggling.

"You're getting_ really_ close to my eye, Craig." She hissed through gritted teeth, keeping her eyes shut.

"Whatever." The quiver in his voice was getting harder to hide and he silently chastised himself for speaking at all.

He hadn't felt like himself since that horrible day. An unfamiliar anxiousness consumed his every thought, making it difficult to function at all. Being trapped in this bunker certainly wasn't helping, either.

But no, that wasn't right. He wasn't trapped and he knew it.

He was starting to think of it as more of a prison than a shelter, with Wendy as the ill-tempered warden. But he could quite easily twist the bars, overpower the warden and escape whenever he chose. So then why did he feel the need to keep asking for permission?

Craig Tucker was not imprisoned, he was terrified.

His finger twitched, leaving an uneven line of makeup across her left cheek. He couldn't even do something this simple, couldn't even keep his composure—which coincidentally was the only thing he was ever good at.

"Hey…" Wendy's tender voice filtered into his thoughts. He looked up from his efforts to find eyes wide with worry looking back at him.

"Is… something wrong?" She winced, almost like she was afraid to ask.

That girl was something else. Didn't she have more important things to be concerned about?

He turned his attention back to the paint on her cheek in a wasted attempt to fix it. If he couldn't do this one thing right—

He sighed shakily. "I just… I want this to be over. Do you really think we can do this?"

The question made her perk up, causing him to drag his finger down her face and ruin his life's work completely. He was about to start cursing under his breath, but she cut him off.

"I do." The response was immediate and smooth as silk, like she didn't even need context. It caught him off guard and he stared at her, dumbfounded. Her smile was so hopeful, and her eyes… were they always so blue? They danced in the glow of the candlelight, emulating sapphires with the way they sparkled.

Or maybe it was the other way around.

He finally felt like he could breathe but he was starting to feel woozy, like he'd been standing out in the sun too long. He gulped, like that would help.

"Seriously? With just the two of us?"

"Of course." The innumerable shades of blue in her eyes swirled like a storm and her cheeks took on the slightest tinge of pink before she continued.

"It'll take a while. I'll need to find more weapons, ammo, food… but I have faith that we'll be able to take back South Park."

Her words were strong, absolute, true. Like she'd been reading from scripture. Like she didn't have a single doubt in her mind. And fuck, Craig hadn't realized how badly he needed to hear those words until she spoke them.

A heady warmth settled in his chest.

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to be doing with his time, much less what she needed from him. After all, a pillar of strength was the only thing he ever knew how to be.

It didn't seem like she needed one, though. Quite the contrary.

She reached out to touch his hand, and for the first time, he let her.

"Just the two of us."


	6. somebody else

The suggestive slit in her evening gown bunched up just below her hip, making her more self-conscious than she'd ever been. No matter how hard she tried to tug it down, the satin blend material just kept sliding right back up her thigh.

She closed her eyes and sighed wearily.

She actually liked the dress when she'd first tried it on at Macy's. It was a hot, passionate red and it hugged her body like a dream. She'd even dare to say she felt sexy as she posed in front of the fitting room mirror, strutting around the stall while Bebe patiently waited outside.

But she wasn't alone in the fitting room at Macy's anymore.

Now, as she stood in the corner of the crowded school gymnasium while she waited for her boyfriend to arrive, passion was the last thing on her mind.

Now, she watched as her well-dressed classmates congregated in the center of the room, groping one another drunkenly under the makeshift strobe lights. Their sweaty bodies melding together as they moved in time with the bass blaring from the school's crappy sound system.

She crossed her arms over her chest in a feigned attempt to look a little more prudish. Feeling good in a sexy dress wasn't so hard in a department store fitting room. This, however, was something else entirely.

She barely had a chance to defend herself from the gust of insecurity that swept her off her feet. She shifted uncomfortably on her heels and scratched at the skin on her forearms. Reddened goosebumps followed the tracing of her fingertips. Her heart hammered away in her chest for reasons unknown, and she wished to any and all deities that she'd just disappear.

But that never happened. Instead, there was a gentle nudge against her shoulder.

"Hey, you look fucking miserable."

Suddenly, the white noise was gone. That touch, that barely audible voice—they startled her out of her anxious stupor without any effort.

Her belly felt warm in the most familiar way. The storm subsided.

She gazed up at her savior, the boy who would forever tower over her, even in her four inch stilettos.

"Fancy seeing you here, Tucker."

"Yeah whatever," he replied before flipping her the bird.

Her eyes acted of their own volition, drinking in his form. He wore a dark gray suit and a bow tie that matched his eyes. The way his hair was slicked back made him look a little like James Dean. She hadn't seen him without his signature chullo in years, so she almost wanted to bet that his mom styled it for him.

She'd be lying if she said he didn't look incredible.

So, she lied.

"You don't look half bad. Beats that ratty old sweatshirt, dontcha think?"

A light blush dusted his tanned cheeks and he tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. Did she really just embarrass Craig Tucker?

"Fuck off. I'm here for Tweek, that's it."

He paused before continuing. "Doesn't seem like this is your scene, either."

Her eyes fell and she shrugged at the floor. "I guess not. I didn't think _everyone_ would be drinking!"

"I mean, you basically _have _to drink in order to have fun at these things. You know that, right?" He sounded so pretentious, and maybe a little drunk.

She shot back up with hands on her hips. She couldn't help the smile on her face as she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Is this your way of telling me you've been drinking, Tucker?"

Unbidden oxytocin emptied into her brain like a broken floodgate at the sound of his sarcastic snort.

"What are you, an undercover cop?" He lowered his gaze, smirking at her in a playful way she'd never seen before.

"Would you put it past me?" She winked, bringing a manicured finger to her red lips like she was cluing him in on some confidential information.

"Nope, but if you're that curious, I do have my flask on me." He opened his jacket to reveal a small, metal container, sloshing it around loud enough for her to hear. "You're welcome to take a swig if you need it."

Either she looked truly pathetic standing there all alone, or he'd already had a few too many. In all the years that she'd known him, Craig Tucker was never this nice. It made her anxious in a different way, a familiar type of pain and pleasure that she could never seem to get enough of.

But she gulped down whatever feeling that was.

"I'll be okay. Thanks, though." She smiled shyly before looking up into his bright ocean blues, unafraid.

He barely gave her a second glance before he turned to look out at the crowd, shrugging apathetically. "Suit yourself. Where's Token?"

She sighed in a dramatic fashion. "He texted me. He told me he needed to make a quick pitstop."

"Well at least you _got _a text," he grumbled under his breath.

She giggled, knowing exactly what he was alluding to. "Trouble in paradise?"

"I never know what that little asshole is up to. But I guess it just comes with the territory. It's Tweek, after all."

"And you're fine with that?" It slipped out before she could reel it in, but she really _was _curious. Craig and Tweek were a very private pair—details about their relationship were scarcely known, despite them being together for so long.

He turned to her then, staring into her with the most serious look in his eyes. "Fine with it? Of course I am."

Somehow she felt like she struck a nerve, but her word vomit was far from under control. The next question that crawled up from her throat and into her mouth was burning and painful, and she didn't even bother to try and contain it.

"You… really love him, don't you?"

He turned his head, facing the bleachers. She couldn't see the look on his face, but his voice was soft as silk.

"Something like that."

Every semblance of sanity fled her body at the sound of those words. Those three insignificant words. She felt her fight-or-flight response kicking in, just like all the times before. Except this time, it would be different.

This time, she was determined to fight.

All she could hear was the low drumming of her own heartbeat as she turned to him, reaching out to touch him. Reaching out to grab him and demand him to look at her—for once, just fucking _look_ at her.

She was afraid of what she might do after that.

But as a high-pitched staccato began to fill her ears, she figured out pretty quickly that there was no need to dwell on it.

She turned to look at where the peculiar sound was coming from, and she was greeted by the sight of a frizzy blond mop attached to a short, screaming boy. He came barreling towards them, practically falling into Craig's arms.

"AGH—! Craig I'm so sorry I couldn't find you!"

Craig, whose arms were now occupied, gazed down at his blond companion before giving him a little squeeze that did not go unnoticed by Wendy.

"Hey honey, are you excited?"

_Honey._

"AH! Of course, man! This is junior prom, we _had_ to go!" Tweek's body slowly began to stagnate beneath Craig's embrace. Wendy wondered how it was even possible.

She looked back up at Craig, whose breathtakingly beautiful eyes took on a fondness that was so uncharacteristic of the person they belonged to, it was enough to make anyone feel sick to their stomach.

In an attempt to keep her lunch where it was, she looked down at Tweek instead. If it wasn't for her heels, they'd be the same height. She noted that his suit matched the one that Craig was wearing. It made it a little harder to stave off the nausea, but she had to admit that it was adorable.

"You're looking dapper tonight, Tweek," she said, silently hoping he could hear her over the music.

He untangled himself from his boyfriend's long limbs and glanced up at her, face flushed. "Ah thanks Wendy! You look—_ACK!_—really pretty!"

Now it was Wendy's turn to blush. That was the first compliment she had received all night. To say it boosted her confidence would be an understatement.

"You're so sweet, thank you!"

Wendy always had a good relationship with Tweek. He was probably one of the nicest people she knew. In a way, she felt like they were kindred spirits. He wasn't afraid to be weird; he was unapologetically himself. She, on the other hand, felt the weirdness in her bones but was too scared of what others would think. He inspired her, but she was also so jealous—maybe for more reasons than one.

"Tweek, you wanna go get some food? They have a whole table of stuff near the locker room," Craig interrupted.

Tweek beamed up at him, green eyes shining. "Hell yeah man, let's go!"

Without so much as a goodbye, Tweek began his hurried jog to the other side of the gymnasium. Craig turned to follow him, but before he took a step further, he looked back at Wendy.

"Offer still stands."

Her eyes dropped to his feet as she breathed out a sad laugh that she doubted he'd notice.

"Go be with your boyfriend, stupid."

She looked back up to see his signature salute, accompanied by the smallest smile known to man. "Catch ya later, Testaburger."

She mirrored his expression. "Yeah, see ya."

He turned to walk away and the smile fell from her face. There was this horrible feeling that settled in her gut, like being torn open from the inside.

The nausea was gone, but this was so much worse.

And as his figure disappeared into the crowd and her pain reached its pinnacle, she came to a disturbing revelation.

She'd happily stay sick for the rest of her life, if it meant she'd never have to watch him walk away again.

She would put up with anything if it meant he'd stay.

"Hey Wendy, sorry I'm late!"

Peeling her eyes away from the crowd before her, she looked over to see Token, who was panting like he'd just run a marathon.

He quickly pulled himself together, standing up straight before revealing an extravagant arrangement of red roses. "M'lady," he faked an English accent as he bowed.

She snorted in spite of herself. "You're too much, you know that? You didn't have to get me flowers…" She took them into her hands, sniffing them. "But thank you, I appreciate it."

He winked at her playfully. "Nothing but the best for my baby. Now, _please_ tell me you haven't just been standing here all alone, or I will seriously feel like the worst boyfriend in the world."

"Well, I guess I kinda _have_ just been standing here, but… Craig and Tweek came over to say hi just before you got here."

Token flashed a smile at the mention of his "favorite power couple", as he loved to call them. "That's why they're my best friends. Did Craig actually _talk_ to you this time, or was he just piggybacking off Tweek like usual?"

Wendy's focus drifted somewhere behind Token as she thought about her answer. Looking in those sweet, brown eyes of his just didn't feel quite right.

"Actually, Craig was the one that approached me. I guess Tweek is giving him some pointers on human interaction." She faked a giggle before looking back over at Token.

His eyes were sparkling with pride. "Damn, that's awesome. Tucker's a good dude, even though he may not seem like it. Don't you think they make a great pair?"

She gulped. "They're… perfect together, actually."

He looked at her with pure admiration—the kind of admiration that was better suited for spectacular monuments and priceless artwork.

It made her incredibly uncomfortable.

"Uh hey, let's go dance! What do you say?" Her cheeks were starting to heat up under the lens of his prying eyes.

Thankfully, their eyes disconnected. He leaned down to plant a kiss on her bang-covered forehead. "Sounds like fun. I love you, Wendy. I'm really happy to be here with you."

Creeping anxiety coiled around her neck and forced her to smile. "Yeah, so am I."

—

Once Token arrived at the dance, everything became a blur. She couldn't be sure if she was doing it on purpose or not, but it made the night a little more bearable.

Wendy's consciousness came streaming back at the most convenient time—when it was time for the last song of the night. With the first few notes of Lana Del Rey's "Love song", everybody who had somebody stumbled back onto the dance floor for one last dance.

Token was saying something to her, but she was already in her own little world again. All she could do was follow him as he led her into the center of the room, placing his hands on her hips and holding her close. He was warm, and his presence was comforting.

Instinctually, she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, settling her chin on his shoulder. The velvety tune of the piano influenced their movement, and Wendy's head was buzzing with the sound.

She thought there was something so sad about the song, even though it was supposed to be romantic. It resonated with her, made her feel like she wasn't alone.

Whatever that sad piano was being used to convey, she understood it.

And as the song was coming to an end, as the pair made their final turn on that damn synthetic wood flooring, she saw it. The scene that would forever be burned into her brain.

Craig Tucker wasn't sweet. He wasn't gentle, or kind, or wistful. At least, that's what she'd gone her whole life thinking.

But as she looked across the way, under the romantic low lighting, Craig Tucker publicized his love for Tweek in the form of the most soul-baring kiss she'd ever seen in her life.

Time froze against her will, and she simply couldn't look away. The passion in the air around them was so palpable that it made her weak. Tweek looked absolutely serene, and not at all like himself. He was being held so close, yet so delicately by the most breathtaking guy in the entire universe, so it came as no surprise.

Then there was Craig. The look on his face could only be described as love.

It was never just a maybe. She always knew.

She always knew, and now it was too late.

—

"I told you Token, it's over. Please stop calling me."

The phone was sandwiched between her ear and the pillow. The mascara she'd worn clung to her eyelids in sticky clumps, and she wondered if she looked as dead as she felt. She couldn't be bothered to change out of her dress before locking herself in her room and designating her bed as her eternal grave.

"_I just don't understand, Wendy. Was it something I did? Please, I just need an explanation."_

He sounded like he'd been crying, unlike her. She'd gone braindead, and crying just wasn't in the realm of possibility.

"It's just not meant to be. I'm sorry."

"_That's not enough for me. Please tell me what I did wrong."_

"You didn't do anything wrong, Token. You're an amazing person, but…"

"_But?"_

"But I can't force myself to feel something I'll never feel."

There was a long pause on the other line, aside from his persistent sniffling.

"…_Is there somebody else?"_

She pinched her lips together, staring intently at the wall in front of her.

"…No, there isn't."

"_I love you."_

She tapped her thumb against the screen, effectively ending the call without having to move from her spot. She had a feeling he wouldn't be calling her again.

Her gaze was fixed on that wall for what felt like lifetimes.

It was only when sunlight began to filter through the cracks in the blinds that the wheel of time began to turn again.

She couldn't suppress the violent sob that ripped through her.


	7. like you do

"_Our promise, Craig. Remember the promise you made me."_

He heard those whispered words nearly every morning since the outbreak. If that didn't rouse him from his slumber, the opening and shutting of the iron bunker door definitely would.

But he always heard her, every single time. Sometimes he'd grunt in response, sometimes he wouldn't respond at all.

Sometimes, by the time he woke up, she was already long gone—which made him wonder if he'd just dreamt up her voice altogether.

Today was one of those days. A day where he felt like she had just been there, right next to him, whispering reminders of that nonsense promise into his ear. But as he yawned and rubbed the dirt from his eyes, she was nowhere to be found.

His knees cracked when he stood, subconsciously making his way over to the pantry so that he could start preparing breakfast for the two of them.

As he slid the door open, he was made painfully aware of their dwindling resources—a few cans of baked beans, half a bag of white rice, a can of haggis, some quail eggs, and a jar of marmalade.

It took him less than a second to grab the quail eggs and the marmalade, deciding that it'd make a decent breakfast. But it didn't matter—she'd gush and appreciate whatever he made. Even the goddamn haggis.

He lit the stove and waited for it to heat up, unable to shake the empty pantry from his mind.

Wendy meant well, he knew that. He always tried his best to trust her judgment, but now it was starting to jeopardize their chances of survival.

If she managed to scrounge up enough food for the rest of the day, he'd consider them lucky.

_BANG!_

His eyes flicked towards the ceiling and dread filled his stomach. Aside from the clattering of pans and Wendy's constant nagging, he'd lived in silence for months.

Anxious adrenaline surged through his veins, willing his body to move.

He quickly reached into the cabinet above the stove, grabbing a fully loaded pistol. He sprinted across the room, practically knocking over one of the dining chairs before grabbing the iron door handle and flinging it open.

In daydreams, when he stepped out of that bunker for the very first time, there was light. The sun was warm and a soft birdsong could be heard in the distance.

But it was a dark and stormy morning. Cold mud squished between his toes as he stepped out onto the surface. Chilly air and frozen rain rolled against his face, making his cheeks go numb.

His heart mercilessly thrashed against his ribs, causing his hands to shake and his grip on the pistol to weaken.

He'd never even held a gun before. He had no idea what he was doing. But as he turned in the direction of where the noise had come from, his inexperience suddenly didn't matter.

There she was, like he knew she'd be. She was laid out across the grassy field—one of the last of its kind—unconscious and covered in mud. There was blood dripping from her mouth and her left ankle was twisted out of shape.

Behind her, a horde of zombies was slowly approaching.

The scene shook him to his core. He hadn't seen a zombie since that day, and he was hoping he'd never have to again. Their skin was pale and gangrenous, with bits of flesh falling off with every step they took. They stared at him with those hungry bulging eyes, just as they had before. It made him want to run away as far as his legs would take him.

But he ran to her instead, leaping in front of her unconscious body without a second thought. A defenseless and injured Wendy was a sight he never imagined he'd witness, but it was a solid reminder of the promise he'd made to himself that day—a promise that not even Wendy could force him to break.

His hands trembled in fear and anger as he aimed the gun towards her would-be assailants. His voice didn't waver when he spoke.

"Miss me, assholes?"

He grit his teeth and cocked the gun, firing into one of their chests. He wasn't the best shot, but with the pistol's extended clip, he'd have to be a complete idiot to let himself get killed. He'd gathered enough information from the horror stories Wendy told him—he'd have to aim right between their eyes.

He shot once, then twice. He'd hadn't landed it between their eyes, but the forehead was good enough. Two of them collapsed to the ground.

There were three more left, and the closer they got, the more it unnerved him. He wasted a few bullets in an attempt to finish them off quickly, but as they came into point-blank range, it grew easier to take each one down. He'd even managed to hit one right above the nose.

Once the last creature fell, he wasted no time in turning around, scooping up Wendy and bringing her back inside.

Her breathing was labored and he was almost positive her ankle was broken, so he tried to be as careful as possible when laying her on the blanket. Just one look at her matted hair and busted up lip made him feel enough guilt to last an eternity.

After a few moments of brushing the dirt and dried blood off her face, he got up to grab the medical kit from underneath the sink. As he reached down to grab it, there was an agonized scream from behind him.

"FUCK—!"

He sprung up and turned back towards her. She was seated upright, clutching tightly onto her broken ankle. The look on her face told him she was desperately trying not to cry.

With emergency kit in hand, he rushed back over and settled down beside her. She snapped towards him with inhuman speed, grabbing him by the arm before he'd even unzipped the kit.

He flinched, and her grip simply grew tighter.

"What did you _do_?"

The question was biting, snarly, deafening. It reverberated through him, knocking between his skull and his brain even after the words were spoken. The cold stare she was serving him made him feel like he should be apologizing, even if there was nothing to apologize for. He wasn't sure what sort of reaction he was expecting, but it sure as hell wasn't this.

"I saved you, you almost died out there." The panic rising in his voice was far beyond his control. They were about to have _that _conversation, after all.

"Craig… what is the _one _thing I've explicitly told you not to do?!" Her voice was shrill and painful, almost like she was trying to instigate a yelling match. The look in her eyes was now reminiscent of hot-blooded anger, and she scowled at him like she was hoping he'd break.

So, this was how it had to go down.

His eyebrows pinched together in frustration as he tried his best to ignore her taunts. "What the fuck, are you fucking serious?" His voice rose against his will. "You've been protecting me for months, and the _one_ time I fucking step outside to help you, this is what I fucking get?!"

"I DON'T NEED YOUR FUCKING HELP, CRAIG!"

It was more of a strangled scream than a sentence. She released him, throwing her arms against his chest in a feeble attempt to push him away. She wouldn't look at him now. She was crying.

"I can do this on my own," she whispered.

Wendy Testaburger was completely and utterly out of her mind. She had almost no concept of self-preservation, to the point where Craig couldn't tell if she was trying to be a martyr or if she was just downright suicidal.

"Listen, I can't let you keep doing this. I won't allow you to die."

Her river of tears had formed tributaries, washing some of the blood and dirt off her face. When she looked back at him, she didn't glare or even frown—just looked.

Then, she reached for the back of his head. Gently, she held him by the hair under his hat and pulled him so close that their noses were almost touching. His heart thumped in his throat.

"Honey, I am not afraid to die," she whispered with resolve.

A chill ran up his spine, and before he could think, he spoke.

"Tweek," was what he said. He shriveled up under her touch, and suddenly he felt like a kid again. His shoulders gave way and they started to shake, but he didn't dare cry.

She took in a shallow breath and her irises widened. More pity he never asked for.

He squeezed his eyes shut, reminding himself of his promise again. In order for him to keep it, she needed to know. And he needed to be strong.

"All of my friends and family are dead. Every single one of them."

He opened his eyes. She looked horrified, like she'd just witnessed a car crash. There was a storm raging amongst the waves and all he could see was death in her eyes.

She looked like she wanted to say something, but he wouldn't let her.

"Wendy…"

She gasped, and whatever words she wanted to say died on her lips.

"…not you, too."

He wasn't sure how long they sat like that, but it felt too long. He felt heavy and sweaty, and even though it was barely noon, he was incredibly exhausted. On top of that, he was nervous. Nervous about what she'd say. Nervous about what it would mean for them. Nervous about the future.

"Okay," she croaked. Her eyes were vacant. She was thinking. About what, he couldn't say.

"Okay. I'm sorry."

Feeling like he could breathe for the first time in ages, he sighed in relief. He pulled away slightly, and her hand fell to her side.

"Don't be. Just focus on getting better. I'll handle the rest."

And for the first time since he'd known her, Wendy looked truly miserable.


	8. oblivion

Craig wasn't sure was what going on. All he knew was that he was on his way to Tweek's when he saw a flood of people charging at full speed in his direction, yelling about "the monsters". Through the frenzy on the street, neither Tweek or his parents were anywhere to be found.

Despite the panic and confusion, Craig stayed the course, quickening his pace to his boyfriend's house. If Tweek was in danger, he needed to be there to protect him.

When he arrived, he couldn't have possibly imagined the horror he was about to witness. All of the Tweak's windows had been smashed, the door was off the hinges, and there was a burning smell coming from inside the house.

Craig's stomach was filling with dread as he sprinted inside and called out, "Tweek! Tweek! Where are you?!" No response.

He was about to dash up to Tweek's room when he heard a blood-curdling scream filtering in from the open backdoor. "CRAIG!"

Instantly, he started for the door, ignoring the large fire in the kitchen as he ran through it.

As he tumbled through the doorway, he was immediately made aware of the gravity of the situation. Just a few feet away, he saw Tweek clawing his nails into the ground, fighting for his life against a group of green people who were covered in open sores and groaning in anger. Blood spattered their torn clothing and it was almost like there were chunks of their bodies missing.

Then it hit him… those weren't people at all.

Craig was almost certain he was going crazy. He advanced after the heinous creatures who were dragging away his boyfriend. He had no weapons to defend himself, but he had no fear to inhibit him either.

"CRAIG!" Tweek cried, extending his hand out as far as it would go.

Craig was so close, he could almost feel their fingers intertwine, and then…

"TWEEK—!" A piercing blast broke the sound barrier and the ground shifted beneath them. Tweek was instantly torn from view.

Craig tried his best to keep himself steady, but his legs completely gave out when he was struck in the back of the head by a flying object.

—

He wasn't sure how long he'd been out for. He was convinced that it had all been just a horrible nightmare. But then he felt the aching in the back of his skull and all of the terrible memories came flooding back.

He felt a warmth underneath him and two arms pulling him up. "Hold on," the voice commanded, so he hooked his arms together with what little strength he had.

He heard more explosions, each seemingly closer than the last, but the person carrying him didn't falter. They seemed like they were straining to breathe as they sped up.

Finally, Craig was welcomed by the sound of a metal door opening and his world was plunged into darkness. He felt himself fall onto a soft blanket, as the mystery person was blindly rummaging through something at his side.

"Ah-ha, here it is." He knew that voice, just couldn't put a face to it.

The flick of a lighter illuminated the small space between them and he was able to make out the shape of their face. _Is that… Wendy?_

She certainly didn't exude that put-together aura she usually did—in fact, she looked rather disheveled. She had lost her signature beret at some point, and her ears were looking cold and red. She had on shoulder pads and arm guards that fit her a little too loosely. Her clothes were torn up and bloody, and the look on her face indicated to him that she'd been through hell.

She fumbled with the candle in her hands and lit it.

She glanced over at him and a sense of relief washed over her. "Craig, you're awake."

"Wendy… w-what's going on?" His vocal cords were still sore from yelling.

She turned her attention back to the survival kit at her side and pulled out an ice pack. She wedged her hand under Craig's head and nestled the ice pack under him. "It's… an outbreak. We think it's the result of another one of Mephesto's crazy experiments. The government is dropping explosives to try and contain it…" Her tone was so… despondent. Not like the Wendy he remembered from high school.

She huddled up next to his lying figure and examined him curiously. "How'd you get that nasty bump, Tucker?"

"I-I have no clue… Last thing I remember I was… trying to… save…" His eyelids slowly fell closed against his will as he slid into a blunt trauma induced slumber.

Wendy knew it probably wasn't the safest idea to let him sleep, but she figured this would probably be the only rest he'd ever get again, so she let it slide.

The world outside was horrifically destroyed. Her parents, family, and friends were all either crushed under the rubble of the explosives, or eaten alive by ravenous zombies—and she'd been there to witness most of it. But as she laid down on the hard floor and watched the rise and fall of his chest, she took comfort in knowing that she didn't have to go through it all alone.


	9. always

There was something wrong with Wendy.

Her ankle was still healing and it seemed as though she was growing stir-crazy. She tried to walk on her ankle at least three times a day, which didn't help the healing process. She was quiet, keeping to herself more and more with each day. Whenever Craig would come back from scavenging, she would be sitting at the dinner table and staring at the door dead-eyed with a cigarette between her lips.

Today, Craig came home particularly late. He'd had a run-in with some of those sick creatures on the surface, but he'd handled them easily. He went farther out than he usually did to check out the ruins of Whole Foods, and as luck would have it, he was able to gather as much water and non-perishable items as he could fit in his rucksack. He was pretty proud of himself, too—they'd been running low on food for quite a while, and he thought Wendy would appreciate it.

But, once again, he was late. And when he shut the metal door with a thud, there she was, fixated on him with a candle burning brightly beside her and a lit cigarette in her mouth. She took a long puff, then exhaled raggedly.

"You're late." There was a quiet sadness in her tone.

"Yeah, I went to Whole Foods and got us a bunch of shit." He dropped his bag by the door and approached the table.

"I was worried."

"Sorry about that." He pulled out a chair and sat at the corner beside her.

Wendy took another pull from her cigarette and let the smoke take up the space between them once more. She turned to her comrade in arms and silently offered it over, but he shook his head. "You know I quit."

"Yeah, I know."

They didn't speak again until Wendy snuffed out the cigarette butt on the table.

"Craig, can I ask you something personal?" She sounded a little more like herself, but her voice was noticeably shaky.

"Shoot."

"When did you, uh… realize you loved Tweek?" She hadn't uttered that name since before the outbreak. She clenched her fists in an attempt to self-soothe, but it didn't help—she was still nervous.

Craig almost jumped at the question. He didn't answer right away. In fact, he looked down and contemplated the query for quite some time. Once in a while she'd catch him smiling—she could tell he was thinking back on fond memories.

When he was ready, he looked back up at her. He wasn't exactly smiling, but she could tell the conversation topic made him happy. "I always knew."

Wendy wasn't expecting an answer like that. It shot right through her heart and made her want to cry. She smiled at him remorsefully as she asked herself how the world could be so cruel.

"That's beautiful," she expressed tearfully. She looked down at his hands on the table. They were calloused and he had dirt under his fingernails. She took a small gulp and a big risk as she drew nearer to him and held both hands in hers. His contented expression remained, so she gave them a little squeeze.

"I'm sorry I'm not him." She looked down, unable to face him. "I know you wish I was. I miss a lot of people too."

He shifted his hands and actively squeezed back. She was too terrified to look up. "Wendy… I don't wish that."

She jolted up in shock, red-cheeked and teary-eyed. "W-w-what?"

He met her gaze with the patience of the ocean waves. "I said, I don't wish that. I'm actually… glad you're here."

Time froze for her again. Except this time, she didn't want it to end.

At last, the floodgates were open and she began to weep. She didn't care if she looked like a total mess, she couldn't make herself look away from him any longer, or ever again.

"Craig… w-when you didn't come home today, I-I was so worried…" Her body trembled as her lifelong burden began to lighten.

He bit his lip and moved closer. It was taking all of his willpower not to break down with her. "I know, and I said I was sorry."

She laughed through the tears. "I-I know that… I just needed to tell you b-before you l-l-leave again…"

"Tell me what?" His thumbs rubbed against the backs of her hands in slow circles.

"I need to tell you, that I… I _always_ knew."

Over the years, she had dreamt of what it would be like many times, but even in her wildest dreams, Wendy never could have imagined _Craig_ _Tucker_ wrapping his arms around her and kissing her so desperately like he did.

She was too in love to do anything except kiss back. She moaned weakly into his lips, basking in how soft they were. The more she thought about how perfect she felt at this moment, the harder she cried. She tried not to sob, but when he started gently sucking on her bottom lip and running his hands through her unkempt hair, it was hard not to.

He pulled back so that their lips were barely touching. Never had she seen him so transfixed on the storm that brewed inside her. If Wendy didn't know better, she would have almost thought that _maybe_ he was…

"Wait," his voice was hushed. Peeling himself away from her, he carefully took off his blue chullo and pulled it over her head. "There. Now your ears won't look so cold anymore."

He paused. "…Plus, you don't look half bad."


End file.
